The Marauder's Map
by Hazel Maraa
Summary: Haunted old parchment was trying to kill him. Great. Just bloody great. Ficlet on how the twins figured out how to use the Marauder's Map, haha. No pairings, oneshot.


I've always wondered how in the heck Gred and Forge managed to get the password for the Marauders' Map.

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I disclaim.

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Fred and George eagerly dumped their loot onto George's bed. The twins had just raided Filch's office, or more specifically, the "confiscated and highly dangerous" drawer of his desk. George quickly went to the door to check if any of the other dorm users were coming up the stairs. Seeing nobody, he locked and silenced the door, so that no one could get in, and if something exploded, no one would hear anything. George glanced back at Fred, and watched him rifle through the pile of forbidden things for a brief second. George got impatient, so he bounded over to his brother.

"Anything good?" George asked Fred. The latter shook his head sadly.

"Nothing good." George rolled his eyes at Fred, and joined him in the searching for gold.

"What's this?" George asked moments later, holding a very old piece of old parchment. Fred looked at George incredulously, before stating the obvious.

"It's a piece of parchment." George surveyed the parchment closely. He brought it so close to his face that it touched his nose, and then slowly moved it away. He continued doing this a few times before exclaiming an exclamation.

"It's a piece of _old_ parchment!" He exclaimed triumphantly. Fred looked at his brother oddly.

"And this is a chicken." He said sarcastically.

"Gred?"

"Yeah?"

"…That _is_ a chicken."

"Exactly."

"…Oh." George said, put out.

"Nothing good at all." Fred sighed, and pushed it all off the bed in one sweeping motion. "Nothing good at all." He repeated sadly. "Nothing…at all…" Fred sighed again, and closed his eyes. George blinked at him, then decided if Fred was going to sleep on his bed, then he'd sleep on _Fred's_ bed. George mentally cackled; he had _such_ good plans.

_I wonder why Fred doesn't like to use my ideas for pranks?_ George thought for the umpteenth time as he shuffled over to Fred's bed. _I mean, charming someone so that rubber chickens threw themselves at a person is pure _brilliance_, how can you not notice something like that? _George shrugged, and lay down on the bed. He closed his eyes.

George felt himself drifting off, before something covered his face. _Why is someone suffocating me with an old piece of parchment?_ Was his first blearily panicked thought. Then, _Someone's SUFFOCATING me! _And finally, _SOMEONE'S SUFFOCATING ME! WHY AM I STILL BREATHING IF SOMEONE'S SUFFOCATING ME! WHY AM I STILL ALIVE IF SOMEONE'S TRYING TO KILL ME! WHY AM I NOT USING QUESTION MARKS ON THESE OBVIOUS QUESTIONS!_

"Wake UP, Forge! Let's go experiment our new fireworks!" Came a familiar voice. The parchment was removed. George exhaled and inhaled quickly, just incase the parchment couldn't fight the urge to try and kill him again. "Wake up! Cock-a-doodle-doo! Rise and shine! Time to push up daisies, and butter the biscuits and whatnot," Fred said, not really knowing or caring what "pushing up daisies" actually meant. George opened an eye reluctantly.

"What d'you want, Gred?" He asked tiredly. "Why were you suffocating me with an old piece of parchment, anyway? Isn't that considered impolite in some countries?" George continued, unaware of anything going on. Fred cast him an odd look, then squinted at him worriedly.

"No one was suffocating you with an old piece of parchment…" He trailed off. George opened his eyes after closing them again, then groaned. Haunted (old) parchment was trying to kill him. Great. Just bloody great. That was all he needed to make his day _super_ fun. Insert anger here. "But something did happen with the parchment we nicked from Filch.." George glared at him to _"just spit it out already, Merlin!"_. "It glowed, Forge. _Glowed._" Fred fibbed to George.

While Fred was trying to impress upon George just how important the fact that it _glowed_ – glowed! – was, George was thinking about how it could obviously float and had some sort of mind charmed into it, because _obviously_ parchments couldn't just try and randomly suffocate people. If it could, then oh-ho, the possibilities it presented George with. Snape could be suffocated by parchment, and not only would there be no incriminating evidence leading to _them_, Snape would be dead, _and_ he'd have been killed by parchment! They could haunt him just by that fact!

It was _brilliant!_

"And no, George, the parchment does not suffocate people. I was trying to wake you up with a spell. The _'Wake with a punch, or maybe even a suffocating piece of parchment feel!' _spell. And yes, Snape probably knows about it, and no, we could not try to use it on him." Fred rolled his eyes. "We already tried, remember?" George scratched his head. Fred knew him far too well.

Must have been the parchment. It must've _taught_ Fred to know these things… There was no saving him now. He had to go.

George suddenly tackled Fred, and they both landed in a heap on the ground. As he was trying to smother Fred, he could've _sworn_ that he heard the parchment _cackle._ Fearing the worst, George stumbled over to his wand and bound Fred. Fred glared at him as his brother silenced and gagged him.

"Sorry Gred, but, the parchment has to be stopped." George saluted his twin solemnly, grabbed the parchment (holding it at arms length and with only his index and middle finger), and raced out the door.

When George reached the Quidditch Pitch, the parchment had taken some damage: the edges were now singed, and it was much more crinkled than it was before George had gotten a hold of it. George glared at the fiendish paper, and threw it onto the ground with a war cry, throwing a barrage of spells at it.

Miraculously, they all missed. George's eyes widened when he saw that they did, in fact, all miss, and grew fearful. If that – that – parchment – _thing_ could stop all of his spells… He was doomed. He didn't a snowball's chance in Hades against this evil parchment.

After all, according to Fred, it glowed! And any inanimate object that glowed of its own accord had to be the spawn of evil!

Evil!

The parchment rippled in the wind innocently.

When George thought he heard footsteps coming, he tried to think of some sort of excuse for his actions if anybody caught him.

"I was… well, I _am_ up to no good, no good at all, so obviously it's obvious." George frowned. "Maybe, maybe I can pretend I'm doing homework…?" He glanced fearfully at the parchment, then slowly moved towards it. Grimacing, he picked it up carefully. Looking towards the sky in a silent plea – _'Dear Merlin, if I don't make it out of this alive, I'd like Fred to have my clothes and Ginny to have my broomstick. Amen.'_ – George gulped, and took a deep breath.

He took a quill he had in his pocket and wrote each letter carefully and neatly. **_I am about to die, but don't worry, it wasn't Voldemort that'll kill me._ **

To his shock, the parchment responded.

Well, _duh_, he reasoned with himself. It's the bloody spawn of evil!

Evil!

_Mr. Moony thinks that this is quite alarming, and would like to inquire if there was anything he could do to stop the unfortunate death of the writer._

**Mr. Padfoot would like to remind Mr. Moony that of course there's nothing he can do to help the writer and his death issues. How would you?**

Mr. Prongs would like to inform Messrs Moony and Padfoot that there is no need to argue like an old married couple before you are one.

_Mr. Moony would like to mention that Mr. Prongs is an escapee from St. Mungo's long term ward, and would like to respectfully tell said Mr. Prongs that it isn't Mr. Moony that will likely end up with a doe as a wife._

**Mr. Wormtail would like to add that Mr. Prongs has very large antlers, and is in no place to speak about 'old married couples'.**

**Mr. Padfoot would like to offer his support of Messrs Moony and Wormtail's comments.**

Mr. Prongs would like to ask Mr. Wormtail who's, exactly, side would be the one that Mr. Wormtail resides on..

**Mr. Wormtail would like to think that it was obvious.**

_Mr. Moony would like to agree._

**Mr. Padfoot would like to laugh at Mr. Prongs' bad luck. Both marital and argumental.**

George looked at the parchment in shock. What?! Gulping, he wrote hesitantly._**George Weasley's the name…is this a cursed parchment, or is there something special to it? **_

_Mr. Moony would like to apologize for the rapid subject change that had been made._

**Mr. Padfoot would like to add that Mr. George doesn't seem to be about to die anymore, and would like to implore as to how and why that would be.**

Mr. Prongs would like to commend Mr. Padfoot on his use and choice of the word 'implore'. Its use would be quite deceiving if we did not know that Mr. Moony was using the word five minutes ago.

**Mr. Padfoot would like to note that said Mr. Padfoot resents Mr. Prongs' comment, and would very likely jinx you if not for the fact that Messrs Moony and Wormtail would stop me.**

_Mr. Moony would like to remind the other Messrs that Mr. George still does not know what our parchment does._

**Mr. Wormtail would like to point out that this parchment is not cursed, but rather, charmed.**

Mr. Prongs would like to say that if you have a correct phrase that has to do with being up to trouble with the something that helps wizards use magic's tip touching the parchment you can access its special abilities.

_Mr. Moony would like to roll his eyes as Mr. Prongs' hints and tell Mr. George that you need to solemnly swear that you're up to no good, otherwise we cannot permit entrance._

**Mr. Padfoot would like to be appalled at Messrs Prongs and Moony for such outright clues and would also like to mention that Mr. Wormtail and Mr. Padfoot himself are innocent of such crimes, and would therefore like to applaud said wizards. **

**Mr. Wormtail would thereby like to agree with Mr. Padfoot.**

**Mr. Padfoot thanks Mr. Wormtail and would like to add to Mr. George that if he were to, say, take the tip of his wand and hold it to this parchment and proclaim, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good" that he would also need to wipe our secret clean. Mr. George would be best to remember that if his mischief were to be managed then everything would be clear.**

_Mr. Moony would definitely like to roll his eyes at Mr. Padfoot and give one last parting message: Mischief managed._

All other writing stopped, and George stared at the parchment. Holding his wand to the paper, he looked around for any passerby.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good."

And he gasped.

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_Fin._

_What d'you think?_

_Review, yeah?_


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